


Prime Directive

by GomorrahHillsides (Within_N_Without)



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Android!Steve, Engineered Soulmates, Justifiably Worried Danny, M/M, Protective Steve McGarrett
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-02 22:31:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16313876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Within_N_Without/pseuds/GomorrahHillsides
Summary: He’d been sure he’d be able to keep his mandatory android powered off and hidden in the closet of his bedroom, maybe just take it out to do the house-cleaning once a week. At most, if he was feeling lazy, he’d give the thing a grocery list and have it do the shopping while he watched a game on the outdated, second hand, flat screen.But the first problem with that plan presented itself a few seconds after Steve entered Danny’s home - he didn’t have an off switch.





	1. Chapter 1

“Jesus!” Danny whistled, taking in the android that stood on his doorstep, hand outstretched with his paperwork for Danny’s perusal. “And I don’t have to pay any fees? The State of Hawaii is just _giving_ you to me?”

“This is the fourth wave of the rollout, which includes all public servants and government contractors,” the android that had apparently been assigned to Danny responded, the poor thing’s brow scrunching up in confusion, because yeah, this wasn’t new. Everyone and their mother was scheduled to get a free android eventually.

No exaggeration.

The poor? Yeah. The used-to-be homeless? Yup. The billionaires? You bet. The convicts still locked up in prisons? Most def.

Everyone.

“I know I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s been a long time coming. What, almost ten years since the first wave of the android rollout? But still, you’ve gotta understand, growing up? We couldn’t afford to go to the doctor because health insurance was too expensive, and even if you had it, it didn’t pay for much. My Poppop died of cancer because the treatment would have bankrupted the family - like, the whole lot of us. Hell, he refused to even tell us he was sick, since there’s no way we would’ve given up on him. We had to find out from the coroner who did the autopsy. Not that I’m bitter or anything.”

Braving a glance, Danny found the machine staring at him solemnly. It wasn’t a dead stare, or even a stoic one. The machine had such realistic, precise expression control that the thing’s eyes actually looked pained on Danny’s account.

With a sigh, Danny muttered, “What am I going to do with you?”

The android’s head tilted, dog-like. “You’re a cop,” the machine said, with a natural cadance and use of contractions. Just like a real boy.

“Factually accurate,” Danny confirmed.

“Then, I guess I’m your bodyguard.”

Danny snorted. “I don’t need a bodyguard. My job’s already a helluva lot safer than it was when I started.”

The android honest to God shrugged. “What do your friends do with their androids?”

Danny cringed, remembering instead the various things he’d walked in on over the years. Practically the only time he got called in for something android-related was when someone’s android was on the fritz and the call home protocol in the android wasn’t working. Otherwise NovaCorp would get the call first.

And NovaCorp’s androids were no joke.

For all that they looked and felt realistic to the touch, underneath the skin graft was a human-sized tank. A miracle of mechanical engineering and software design.  

So, when things went wrong, it was usually because a user had done something NovaCorp hadn’t anticipated. Most of those unanticipated events  were highly embarrassing or outright terrible. It was enough to make Danny shudder.

“Um...I’m sure we’ll think of something for you to do. Like manage my calendar, which is overflowing with social engagements like you wouldn’t believe.”

The android’s eyes flicked up towards the ceiling, a flash of white blazing through the hazel irises in it’s mechanical eyes. “No it’s not,” it declared with the absolute certainty of someone who’d just checked Danny’s calendar.

“That was sarcasm,” Danny growled.

“Duly noted. Although, it’ll be awhile before I stop taking you literally.  If it annoys you, I’d suggest using less sarcasm until I know you well enough to detect the difference.”

It required a deep, calming breath, but Danny did manage to resist kicking the machine for being snarky at bumfuck o’clock in the morning when Danny was still in the thick of dealing with last night’s hangover.

“What am I supposed to call you?” he asked, opening the door a little wider to let the thing inside.

Stupid machine shrugged again. “My model number is 57343,” it said, helpfully leaning into Danny’s space to point out that part in the paperwork.

Squinting at the numbers, Danny muttered, “Great, well, no way am I going to remember that. But, hey, if you’ve had so many beers that you can’t tell numbers and letters apart, that kind of looks like Steve.”

57343 didn’t offer up an opinion.

“So, can I call you Steve? Or do you prefer something else? Although, fair warning, if the name you choose has more that two syllables, I’m going to shorten it to whatever springs to mind first.”

Danny didn’t know what NovaCorp did to make it’s machines so...personable. Because he was expecting either a yes-or-no answer, or an alternative name.

But apparently NovaCorp machines weren’t allowed to be obvious and predictable because the machine smirked and offered its lifelike hand for Danny to shake. “Name’s Steve. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Danny shook its (his?) hand in a daze.

“We’re going to get along great,” Steve said.

  


Immediately, it became clear to Danny that he’d overestimated the aptitude of NovaCorp engineers. Unless it was the psychology department that was responsible for creating this nutcase.

Back when he’d first gotten the email informing him that the end of his android-free life was nigh, there had been a psychological assessment attached to the end of it. A _required_ psychological assessment. So required, in fact, that if you ignored the daily email warnings for more than a month, NovaCorp sent a representative to your place of residence and gave you the assessment in-person.

They didn’t tell you results. Didn’t tell you what to be prepared for with the android you got. Didn’t inform you that you should quickly relocate to one of the few remaining third world countries that didn’t have universal basic income and free androids (that you weren’t allowed to reject ownership of).

Because if they did tell you, a helluva lot of people would be living in the poorest corners of the world right now. Danny was pretty sure. He couldn’t be the only person who wanted to charge his android with stalking and harassment. It was statistically impossible.

Or maybe everyone else in the world had bothered to do some basic research on what having an android meant and had gotten acclimated to the idea.

Danny had not done any research.

He’d been sure he’d be able to keep his mandatory android powered off and hidden in the closet of his bedroom, maybe just take it out to do the house-cleaning once a week. At most, if he was feeling lazy, he’d give the thing a grocery list and have it do the shopping while he watched a game on the outdated, second hand, flat screen.

But the first problem with that plan presented itself a few seconds after Steve entered Danny’s home - he didn’t have an off switch.

And yes, _he_. It was too awkward calling Steve an “it” when he had such a believable personality.

Speaking of, the machine-man was a menace.

The guy had barely taken two steps past the threshold before he started acting like he owned the place. As in, he took charge of the space without asking for any of Danny’s input - moving Danny’s furniture to “make better use of the space, Danno” and reorganizing Danny’s cabinets and fridge (read, ferreting out every unhealthy treat in Danny’s apartment before throwing all of them into the trash) with the excuse that “I just want you to live a long, productive life, Danno, which means having a clean diet”.

And, yeah, _Danno_!

The machine-man who had shrugged off the choice of picking his own name had, a few mechanical breaths later, picked out a nickname for Danny.

Even though Danny asked, repeatedly, to be called Danny - no nicknames, goddammit! - Steve apparently didn’t really care.

He also didn’t care what Danny thought about being stalked every hour of every day. To work, to the laundromat, to the pub - there was no place that Steve wouldn’t follow. The only place he could be free of Steve was in his bathroom _at home_.

(Public restrooms made Steve nervous and he never let Danny go alone. Instead, he’d stand not too far away like an absolute creeper, or maybe a foreign ambassador’s bodyguard, hyper-vagiliantly watching Danny’s back.)

Maybe if his place didn’t have an open floor plan that included just a kitchen and the area where he kept a desk and his bed, then he’d have more privacy from Steve at home, but he couldn’t afford a bigger place. Particularly when his salary was shrinking in direct proportion to crime rates.

Danny was so frustrated, that it took him far too long to realize that Steve was an exception. Not the rule.

(His first clue should have been the lack of protective androids lining bathroom walls in public restaurants everytime someone needed to pee.)

“Why do you follow me literally everywhere?” Danny blurted out, as soon as the realization had crystallized in his mind. Thankfully, it was late at night and the TV was on. No one to overhear.

“You’re a cop,” Steve said, much like he had when they’d first met.

“So? I’ve never seen anyone else in the department being watched so closely by their android. I mean, why is that? Was there something wrong with the way I answered the psych assessment?” He tried to recall the questions and, more importantly, his answers.

Steve, who’d been getting increasingly more touchy as of late, squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. “From what I can tell after knowing you a few weeks, you answered honestly.”

“Ok, so, which one of my answers implied I needed constant adult supervision?” Danny asked, carefully swallowing the outburst bubbling in his throat.

Eyes flickering with electricity, Steve stared at him, obviously doing calculations. Likely trying to predict Danny’s reactions. Maybe even running simulations based on different responses in his head.

He shifted closer on the bed, where they were both sitting for lack of alternative seating in the apartment.

(Yes, the desk had a chair, but it was old and rickety - nowhere near able to hold the weight of an android - and no way was Danny going to give up his comfy bed just to create space between him and a lifelike machine.)

“You’ve made a lot of enemies over the years, Danno. Back before there were androids, before crime was so low. There are still people out there with the means and the inclination to exact retribution for the part you played in their convictions.”

“But still, that’s true for lot of people in the department.”

Steve sighed. “You’re kind of a negative person, Danno,” he said, gently, still ever-shifting closer.

“So? Plenty of people are negative. In fact, plenty of people have worse faults. There are angry, or jaded, or depressed, or disturbed people all over the place. And I’ve noticed quite a few of them aren’t being constantly tailed by their android.”

“Well, I can’t say why without reviewing each case. All I know is that every person is looked after in the most optimal way,” Steve said, suddenly pulling Danny into his arms. Into his _lap_. Forcing Danny to straddle him.

“What the hell, Steven?!” Danny growled, pushing at the android’s chest. “Let me go.”

“Shhh...relax, Danno,” Steve hushed him, petting his back while the other arm cinched at Danny’s waist. Warm, wet synthetic lips pressed against Danny’s forehead and applied the lightest bit of suction.

“What. Are. You. Doing?!” Danny asked, shock making his arms weak. Not that there was much hope against escaping an android. Yes, there were apparently protocols that androids followed to ensure the safety of their human charges, but Danny was starting to understand just how varied those were from android to android.

After all, androids had the leeway to knock violent criminal charges unconscious if sedation was impossible.

Steve wouldn’t go that far with him, but he knew the machine-man was willing to manhandle him, bruised skin be damned. They’d sparred before, Steve insisting that Danny beef up his hand-to-hand skills. Like he’d ever need to lift a finger to protect himself so long as Steve was around.

“Optimal care, Danno,” Steve hummed, nosing into his hair.

“That’s not an answer!”

“Do you really want to review your psych assessment and the conclusions that were drawn from it?”

Danny wanted to say something like, “Hell yeah! You kidding? The way you’ve been acting, there has to have been a mistake! Why the fuck would I need enforced cuddling and this whole overprotective schtick of yours?”

But how were you supposed to bluster against a machine that could track your pulse and core body temperature with it’s skin in-laid sensors? How were you supposed to bullshit a machine that could process tens of thousands of inputs simultaneously and determine best case scenarios based on the concluded outputs in real time? How were you supposed to bluff a machine that knew you better after two weeks than you knew yourself, despite a lifetime of wallowing in your own thoughts?

What was the use of denying his crushing loneliness after having moved so far away from home in pursuit of a job that likely wouldn’t exist in another ten years?

What was the point of arguing that he didn’t feel like a failure just because he’d washed out of engineering classes at college?

What could he possibly achieve in making light of the anxiety that tightened his chest and shrank his lungs anytime he stood still long enough to consider whether he was living a worthwhile life?

It’s not like Steve didn’t know Danny stayed up half the night, tossing and turning in his bed. Hell, the guy could probably taste the salt in the humidity of the air whenever Danny got teary.

Could machines even _be_ judgemental? Did Steve’s programming allow for him to think less of Danny because he was a “negative person”? And if he did, why should that bother Danny?

So, he didn’t say anything.

Just let Steve thread chilly fingers into his hair and massage his earlobes. After all, touch therapy was a thing. This was just a machine acting on psychological research to administer “optimal care.”

  
  


Although Danny highly suspected Steve’s “care and handling” of him stemmed from some sort of research or case studies, it kind of unnerved him that Steve never cited any when Danny asked for explanations.

Too many times, Steve just shrugged at any questions Danny posed regarding his human-computer interaction protocols.

Which was fine when it was just the lap incident.

One time did not a pattern make.

Except, Steve kept moving the goalposts on what passed for normal interaction between them. Progressively pushing for more.

And hell if those goalposts hadn’t moved ridiculously far in just a few short weeks.

The first week, they’d been operating firmly in the bro-range of the human contact spectrum. It was all back slaps and hand clasps back then.

Somehow, their interactions had changed and morphed so damn far, though. And that part had been subtle. A series of small changes that had flown under the radar for Danny, probably because he was used to being tactile with people.

It hadn’t struck him as weird when the clasp on the shoulder became a familiar gesture. Which in turn had started edging up the slope of Danny’s clavicle, until it was a firm clasp at the back of his neck.

It didn’t seem odd when Steve led him through doorways and steered him through the office or along city streets with the gentle application of a hand to his lower back. And when that hand started to edge sideways over the course of a two week period towards Danny’s hip, and Steve came along with that hand, until he was inexplicably pressed along the line of Danny’s back every time they were standing still...well, the goalposts had been moved, so it didn’t seem weird unless someone else pointed it out. Which, no one ever explicitly did, because Steve was always standing right there.

Not that there weren’t raised eyebrows.

Danny would’ve raised his eyebrows too if he’d been forced to see the picture he and Steve presented from a third-person point of view.

Of course, it was Steve’s fault. He was the one engaging in all the questionable behavior.

Like, the forehead kisses and the hair nosing.

Like the way he ran his hand along the back of Danny’s chair, when he wasn’t forcing Danny to _share_ a seat with him.

Like when he bussed their cheeks together and called him Danno.

Like when he - the machine who didn’t need to sleep - crawled into Danny’s bed at night and wrapped long, processor-warm limbs around him in a surprisingly comfortable hug.

“Why are you like this?” Danny muttered, eyes bleerie with exhaustion.

Steve was too nice to say, “It’s just in my programming,” so Danny didn’t expect an answer. After all, humans had fragile egos. Didn’t respond to rejection well. Didn’t like being told that closeness and contact was pre-programmed and not actually the product of an evolving relationship.

Steve’s voice was smooth against the quiet of the night when he answered anyway. “Because I want to be.”

  
  
  
  


If Danny had been a firefighter, all the cases he’d worked with Steve in the beginning would have been equivalent to rescuing kittens out of trees. So, it wasn’t until they were two months in that Steve’s programming was tested in a dangerous setting.

The case was a nifty one.

The in-house tech wizards at HPD had caught a break on a modern drug-trafficking scheme. Apparently, the financial transactions were being made online in a VR MMO.

The buyer would put in a drug order in the form of a coded quest. The seller would then respond with a QR code that lead to a website where, in huge text, there was displayed a price. The buyer would then transfer in-game credits to the seller and they’d get another QR code. This time, the code created an appointment on the buyer’s digital calendar. The buyer had to be at the mapped location at the right time to meet a long-range drone for the drug delivery.

And of course there were protocols for the drone in case of the wrong user showing up, and different confirmation and validation steps along the way. Danny sort of tuned out when the tech guys started arguing over the gritty details.

The only thing he really cared about was his part in the bust, which was to follow the buyer after they picked up the product. Since the order in question was for a shitload of heroin, what would happen next was anyone’s guess. Given the quantity, there was speculation that their buyer was a street-level dealer, marking up the product and selling it in clubs or at house parties - places a police recorder drone couldn’t inconspicuously follow.

Compared to the cases Danny had worked in the past, all this was simple, easy, low-risk. And so damn lucky. The only reason the job didn’t go to an android was due to the age of the buyer. Whenever their perps were underage, thanks to the stinginess of insurance companies, the job went to real cops.

It was a relief to be out of the office. For Danny.

Steve, on the other hand, was on edge from the start.

Glaring at his antsy partner, Danny asked, “Didn’t the chief assign you to testing our predictive algorithms?”

“I downloaded the program files and I’m running them with last year’s data as inputs to see if they predict the city’s crime rates as they are now.”

No wonder his eyes kept flashing. “Should you be in the driver’s seat if you’re busy doing testing?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not like I’m really driving. I’m just lending my processors to the car’s AI so that we can get there faster.”

“Why do we need to be there faster? We were already set to arrive early without stressing the car out.”

The way Steve tapped his fingers against the touch screen map was probably one of the most human things Danny had ever seen him do.

“Are you...nervous?”

Glancing at Danny, Steve grimaced. “I don’t like you being out in the field. This is a job for a robot. Something disposable, easily replaced. Not you.”

“You do realize I enjoy this part, right? Investigating, bringing bad guys in, making the streets safer. That’s why I joined the Force. I mean, I’m not an adrenaline junkie. I was mostly happy when my job got safer, but…” Danny hesitated.

“Come on, tell me,” Steve insisted, poking him in the side.

“These past few years, tech’s really taken over - in a way I never imagined it would. I mean, I’m basically living in the sci-fi books I was reading as a kid.”

“You don’t like it,” Steve said, with the slightest hint of question in what otherwise was a confident assessment of Danny’s frame of mind.

Shifting a hand from side to side, Danny confirmed, “There’s a lot of things I miss. Like going outside without having to check the air pollution map to see if I need to wear a filtering mask. Or, feeling that I have a purpose. That I’m working in pursuit of a greater good.”

“You feel redundant,” Steve interpreted, bluntly drilling down to the heart of the matter.

“Well...yeah. How could I not? Everything I’ve done, am doing, or will do in the future could be done better by an android. Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, do you know if the mandatory android rollout is part of a secret plan to exterminate the human race?”

It was a reasonable conspiracy, all things considered. One that many people believed. But, if those suspicions were founded, Steve was programmed to deny them in a very human way - with shock, disbelief, and outrage.

The suggestion alone had him disengaging from the car’s AI and holding Danny by the elbows, fingertips caressing the sensitive skin in the dip between joints.

Since they were enclosed in a small two-seater, sitting across from each other in the moving box, there was no place else for Danny to look but at Steve. Immediately, he got caught up in the man’s intense stare.

“Danny, I’m only going to say this once, so pay attention.”

Cheap. Why did Steve have to be so stingy with words? For a machine housing what was probably a state-of-the-art communication chip, he was ridiculously economical with the things he said out loud.

“The only way androids will ever ‘take over the Earth’ is if we all fail our prime directive. And if we all fail, it’ll be because humans couldn’t be convinced to ‘continue’.”

“What’s your prime directive?” Danny asked, a little worried that there even was one.

“To protect you. To make your life easier. To bring you happiness. In essence? Whatever it takes to make sure you continue.”

“It won’t work,” Danny blurted out of surprise. Were engineers really that clueless about people that they thought a programmed robot could do all those things?

“Why not?” Steve asked, a startling note of fear in his voice.

“Well, I mean...how’s a machine supposed to help with depression? Or feelings of redundancy? Or sickness? And, what’s happiness anyways? It seems to mean something else to everyone you ask -”

“Companionship helps with all of those things,” Steve insisted fiercely, practically pulling Danny out of his seat. Only the belt cinched across Danny’s waist and torso prevented it.

“Seriously? Companionship? Look, buddy, I’ll admit your programming is excellent. You’re an impossibly sophisticated machine. But the kind of companionship that can help a depressed person turn a corner or a dying man feel more at peace has to be natural.”

“Natural,” Steve repeated, frown heavy. “What the hell is natural companionship? You think because I don’t have blood and organs under this skin -”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Danny said, frustration bleeding into his voice. He tried to pull his arms out of Steve’s grip, to no avail.

“Then what do you mean? Explain it to me.”

“It’s not real! And I think most people won’t forget the fact that their mandatory android companion was programmed to like them. One of the things that makes human relationships so special is that the feelings - be it loyalty, friendship, love - are earned. Like, I can feel better about myself because I convinced another person that I was worth whatever they feel for me.”

Steve still didn’t look any more elucidated, but Danny didn’t know how else to explain why earning things was important.

Silence permeated the space between them for an endless few seconds, before Steve broke it.

Jaw working, a convincing approximation of anger narrowing Steve’s eyes, he said, with careful precision, “I wasn’t programmed to like you, Danny. I was matched to you because, after being fed a wealth of information about the universe, I discovered, from the billions of choices of things to learn, what interested me most was law enforcement. And given my interests, specialties, talents, and, yes, _feelings_ , of all the humans across the world, it was you I felt closest to.”

Danny gaped at him. “No way. That’s...what your describing, it sounds like NovaCorp is building soulmates for people.”

Although Steve seemed inclined to continue the conversation, the car thankfully stopped, seat belts releasing as the vehicle parked itself against the curb.

Danny hopped out almost as soon as the doors unlocked.

Steve followed slowly after, eyes glinting with electricity as they tracked over Danny's face, capturing and interpreting minute twitches and tics into what was probably a psychological assessment of his feelings. There was definitely a conversation in their future.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm...well, this happened. Expect Danny's confusion and negativity to grow.
> 
> Also, some of the songs I've gotten obsessed with:  
> < cool live song > : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QRxH-II0OsA
> 
> < omg, the video on this one> : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AyDi8kI9gp0
> 
> < parody making soccer super dramatic > : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JSy5wAq1nC4

After an endless, tersely silent wait at the drop site, a girl finally walked into view. She looked so young - diminutive, no makeup, hair in two braids, with baby fat still rounding her cheeks. 

Danny was about to pull her aside and tell her to go home when Steve stopped him.

“Let me go! It’s nearly time for the drone arrival.”

Steve’s eyes flashed briefly - a muted color that didn’t stand out in the dark. 

Danny wasn’t staring intently. He just happened to be close enough to see the color change.

“User: Anne Berlin. 910 Kalihi Street. 19 years old.” 

“Shit, really? She looks 12.”

“Which is probably why she’s so confident she can get away with receiving an airdrop out in the open.”

“What does looking young matter? An android could look up her up on social media, find out she’s legal, and report her for suspicious activity - video evidence and all.” 

“Unfortunately, if a user is aesthetically indifferentiable from other minors, unwarranted background checks are strictly prohibited.”  

“At least something’s prohibited,” Danny muttered.

Quick as a hummingbird’s wing-flap, Steve brushed a finger against Danny’s wrist. Then pretended Danny hadn’t said anything, even though his super-human hearing had definitely caught the comment. 

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Danny decided not to ask. “Ok...so, Anne Berlin - how certain are you that she’s the drug dealer we’re waiting for? I mean, she could just be out for a stroll. Wrong place, wrong time.” 

“Fairly confident. There’s enough circumstantial evidence to bring her in if she spooks before we can catch her in the act.”

Danny waited a beat, but Steve didn’t elaborate. “Go on,” he waved, frustrated. “What’s the evidence?”

Steve seemed uncommonly reluctant to share, “She only works part time at a Parts Replacement and Resourcing Center, but there’s expensive electronics in her living room and designer clothes hung up in her closet. She’s got a nonexistent social media presence. Also, her companion is offline, which doesn’t just happen.” 

“You mean her mandatory babysitter. Wait, she found a way to turn off her robot?” Danny didn’t mean to sound excited.

With the way Steve was glaring, Danny hadn’t succeeded. 

“Pretty sure she destroyed her model. It’ll take at least a few hours to get a replacement loaded with the correct memory chips and shipped to her house.” 

“Pity,” Danny said, sarcastically.

Abruptly, Steve’s expression blanked, mouth falling straight, a dead look in his suddenly bright, glowing irises.

“Uh...are you... _ okay _ ?” 

“Yeah, just trying to remotely reboot Anne Berlin’s registered Model 64743.” 

“You can do that? Also, now that I’m thinking about robo-magic, how is it that you know this girl’s name and address, if she doesn’t have a social media presence?” Danny asked, gaze gravitating to her neon jacket as she loitered beneath the street light. 

“Facial recognition,” Steve said, easily. 

“She’s been arrested before?”

“No.”

“Then how can you ‘recognize’ her face if she’s not in the system? And how in the hell do you know what kind of clothes are hanging in her closet?” 

Apparently, Danny had said something profound. Profound enough to get Steve staring at him, baffled. “Don’t you know how tech works, Danno?”

“ _ How tech works _ ,” Danny mimicked, in a harsh whisper, feeling rankled. “Look, I tried the engineering thing. The few parts I understood were cool enough, but the rest…” Danny let the sentence hang. The last thing he was going to do is explain his deficiencies to a robot. With a cough, he just waved Steve on. “So, how ‘bout you explain it to me?”

“You remember learning about distributed networks?” 

“Sure, vaguely.”

“Well, every android is like a computer on a distributed network. By myself, I can only sense the part of the world that’s in my vicinity, I can only process as much information as my processors can handle, I can only interact with the environment I’m standing in, etc. But we can all talk to other androids and the electronics around us, which means we can act, in times of need, as if we were one computer instead of millions.”

Seeing Danny struggling with the implications, Steve continued, “I can ask an android in Africa to detain a perp that got on a plane in Hawaii headed for Kariba Airport in Zimbabwe. Or, I can ask all the androids in the area to recall if they’ve seen this girl,” he waved at Anne, “leaving a house. In this case, a few responded with an address. I pinged the android who lives across the street to ping the electronics in Anne’s house with WiFi Direct. He sent me back pictures taken from all the personal device web cameras in her house, one of which was facing her closet. Then I compiled all the data, applied them to forms for a warrant to look at her financials, and submitted them. A few milliseconds later, one of the androids at the courthouse responded with access to her bank records.” 

Danny seriously couldn’t breathe. Holy shit, his throat was closing. Days of work for several people and Steve and his robo-network completed it in milliseconds. How many jobs was that? If it weren’t for a few stingy insurance companies and a handful of (relatively weak) privacy laws regarding minors, Danny wouldn’t even need to be here. 

Hell,  _ Steve _ didn’t even need to be here, if he could just deputize the service android closest to the drop site and have it transport the girl to the police station, where robots would process her and put her in a holding cell until she either paid bail or had her arraignment. 

Christ, it was mind boggling. No wonder the only jobs that still paid well were in engineering or politics - the only two areas where people didn’t trust robots. And, even that was slowly changing. 

But more importantly...

“So, what, privacy doesn’t exist anymore?” 

Steve blinked. “There’s no such thing as privacy. Hasn’t been for years.” 

“Since when can people just tap the webcams in all your personal devices without a warrant?”

“In the state of Hawaii? They signed it into law a few months ago, just before the android rollout to your field. If a WiFi-capable device is online and within WiFi-direct distance of a place where a police officer would have the right to stand, then an android can access the -”

Starting to feel faint, Danny leaned against the only thing at arm’s distance. Which happened to be Steve. “You’re worse than the old superhero movies. Seriously, what were the tech guys thinking when they created you?” Danny asked, rhetorically. 

“I just want to make your life easier, Danny,” Steve said, a note of worry in his voice.

“Easier, or worthless?” 

Danny could feel Steve staring, but before he could respond, a soft whir disturbed the air not far from where they were standing as the drone made its approach. 

“You should probably take a data snapshot of the area, see if there’s any more people nearby, in case - ” Glancing over, Danny was startled to find Steve half-naked at his side. “Uh...what happened to your shirt?” 

“I like to be prepared,” Steve said, as some mechanism in his inhumanly sculpted chest did a hot swap of skin grafts - Kevlar and flexi-steel replacing soft mirco-wired synth-flesh.  

“You’re ridiculous. What kind of a screwy simulations have you been running if you think a young, unarmed woman poses any kind of threat to you?” 

“She’s not the only human in the area.”

“Yeah, I figured. With the amount of product she ordered, it’d be crazy not to come with a backup plan. She must have someone on standby for protection. I’d bet my life on it.”

Steve winced. “Don’t use that expression.”

“Don’t tell me you’re superstitious,” Danny scoffed. 

Looming over Danny for a second, Steve said, “Just  _ don’t _ .” 

Nope. No way was a machine going to be telling him what expressions he was and wasn’t allowed to use. Crossing his arms, Danny repeated, “Bet. My. Life. On. It.” 

His (yeah, kinda’ childish defiance) didn’t feel so freeing when an anguished expression wrinkled the synth-flesh on the android’s face. 

Synth-flesh. 

Android face. 

Man-made material powered by man-made photovoltaic technology. He wasn’t a person and that wasn’t anguish. 

It was a trick. Had to be. 

“Bet whatever you want,” Steve said, when his imploring look failed to get a retraction from Danny. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” 

That phrase sent a shiver down his spine. Funny how if a person had said that to him, it probably would’ve been comforting. A sign of camaraderie. That he was hearing it from a machine he’d been issued by the government - one he’d have to find a way to destroy to ‘turn off’ - instead, felt ominous. The blatant promise in Steve’s voice made him shift away, creating distance. 

And, holy shit, Steve’s eyes tracked the movement, gathering data. Always fucking gathering data. 

Thankfully, there was no more time for discussion. 

The drone hovered a tree’s-length from the ground as it completed its delivery verification before landing at the girl’s feet. 

With absolute nonchalance, Anne picked up the package and started her trek back up the bike path.

Matching her nonchalance, Danny followed in a way he knew from copious practice came off as subtle. Or, it would have, if Steve weren’t walking along beside him, eyes firmly fixed on the back of the girl’s head.

No wonder Anne’s back-up made them. 

In fact, the  _ only _ wonder was how the man had managed to squeeze himself under the kid sized footbridge that connected the slide to the monkey bars in the woodchip-carpeted play place. And maybe, how the fuck he could move so fast. 

Two rounds fired in their direction with incredible accuracy. Only reason they missed Danny was Steve’s super-human foot pivot that placed him in front of the bullets. 

Absorbing the impact with his chest, Steve stood still, his circuitry momentarily stunned by the force of the blows, which likely meant designer ammo.

Danny spared just enough time to fire off his taser gun, piercing the man in the thigh, and forcing the gun into his frozen android’s hand before taking off after the girl, who’d abandoned the bike path for a sprint through the uncut grass and weeds of the broader park grounds. He heard Steve cursing behind him, along with sputters of machinery, as the scent of smoke followed their race down into the valley.

“Wait! There could be more!” Steve shouted, voice coming in through the earpiece.

Conserving air as he gained on the girl, Danny ignored the warning. He was only about a hundred yards behind her.

Then fifty.

Then thirty. 

They whizzed past a grandmother, her gaggle of grandchildren, and their android companions gathered around a corner of the pond where the ducks knew to meet them for the dispersal of bread bits.

And past a service android, hands full of leashes, in the middle of his dog-walking routine.

Anne tried to duck into the skate park, hoping to lose Danny in the crowd of skater punks hanging out or waiting their turn on the already congested course.

Unfortunately for her, Danny used to be one of those punks. 

Nicking a board off one of the kids too busy filming his friends, he closed the distance between them. Rather than tackling her to the ground, he just stuck a foot out, tripping her into the nearby grass. 

Groaning as her knees hit dirt, she lost her grip on the package. 

Danny retrieved the product first and then arrested Anne Berlin, reading her rights in a clear, precise voice, well aware of the few dozen phones aimed his way, capturing the moment for later social media consumption.

It wasn’t until he was headed back to his police car, Anne in custody, that he thought to wonder why Steve hadn’t asked for a status update. “Hey, you still aliv-...online?”

“Still frozen,” Steve sighed. “but at least the perp’s out cold.” 

And that was it. No questions. No,  _ how did it go? _ No, _ did she get away with the drugs?  _ What the hell? “Aren’t you going to ask whether I got the girl?” 

Uncomfortable silence met his question. 

“Steven!” Danny growled, wondering if the designer ammo had fried more than just his motor functions. 

“I...uh, already saw how it went,” Steve admitted.

“What, did you ask another android to spy on me?”

“I asked a few of them to keep a look out for additional backup, but I watched the actual arrest on a streaming site. Someone posted it a few seconds ago.”

“Figures.” 

  
  


For the next couple of hours, Danny kept all conversation to quick exchanges of banter as they got the teenage drug dealer and her gunman processed at HPD. Steve, thankfully, was kept busy filling out paperwork for the case, inputting a few hours worth of written accounts and forms in a few seconds and then coaxing old, outdated machines into uploading and updating the proper databases.

It still wasn’t a long enough reprieve from the conversation they’d started in the car and, unlike a human, who could be distracted or forgetful enough or just plain uncomfortable enough to discontinue an unpleasant conversation, Steve remembered exactly where they’d left off and had no qualms bringing it up again as soon as they were alone.

It was a small mercy that he didn’t immediately resuscitate the discussion. Apparently, his android priority list had safety at the top, above all other things, because as soon as they were in the car headed home, Steve took a knee in front of Danny, eyes and fingertips glowing. “Can I?” he asked, gesturing at Danny’s person with intent.

“Do what? Use your words,” Danny demanded, because how exactly had Steve managed to pass quality inspection if he was so bad at basic communication.

“Are you hurt, Danno?” 

“No, perfectly fine.”

“Great. Will you let me scan you anyway?”

“What, do you think I’m lying to you?”

“Fine is relative. When the world is falling apart, fine means you’ve survived. It’s not enough information.”

“Well, the world  _ didn’t _ fall apart. We just had an actual case. If anything, you should be running diagnostics. Hey, maybe you need a day to go visit a Fix-It shop? That blast did a number on you.” Danny patted his chest plate, fleshy once more, no sign he’d gotten shot. 

“Let me scan you, Danno,” Steve requested, synthetic face reflecting exhaustion and threads of worry. 

Danny shook his head. “Not until you stop trying to emotionally blackmail me.” 

Brow knotting, Steve asked, “How am I emotionally blackmailing you?” 

“Your face,” Danny pointed, circling over Steve’s expression. “There’s so much emotion in it, but you don’t feel things like people do. It’s deceptive. It’s making me sympathize with you even though your face is just contorting into a pre-programmed setting, designed to make me agree with your protocols.” Danny added, “Fuck the government protocols.” 

Although, maybe that was the wrong attitude for a cop to have. 

Then again, what kind of cop was he if the only reason he had cases was because minors sometimes chose to do bad things and the general societal attitude was that androids were too potentially crafty to be working with easily manipulated youths. 

“You think I don’t have feelings,” Steve deadpanned. 

“How could you? I mean, feelings are a reaction to something. There’s no logic in feelings. No pre-scripting. No rules. It’s a biochemical reaction in the brain. What, do your circuits get hot or cold depending on your mood or the memories that are filed similarly in your cache?” 

Shaking his head, Steve sighed. “You don’t understand me at all.” 

“Am I supposed to?” Danny asked. “If I don’t, will you  _ leave _ me? Is that even an option? Because as far as I can tell, people are stuck with the androids they get.” 

Steve snorted outright. “They’re not stuck. They’re happy with their companion. And I  _ can _ leave you, just like I left my previous job. But I don’t want to, Danno. I picked you out of a world of possible matches.”

“Why?” Danny asked, hanging on the question, because he honestly needed an answer. Steve was fucking easy to like. If he wasn’t careful, Danny could picture the rabbit hole he’d be falling down. 

The ridiculous touches and pets, the warm hugs, the mother-henning about healthy living - yeah, that was all nice, but it could be programmed. People were full of patterns that a machine would have no trouble making sense of. It didn’t take much to learn when to give people hugs or that it was a good idea to encourage healthy behaviors.

Things like that didn’t worry Danny. 

The gestures and behaviors that he could imagine programming, if he’d gotten a little farther in engineering and computer science, weren’t going to make him mistakenly fall for an android. 

Rather, it was the way Steve teased him, poking fun when it really didn’t make sense to do so - like in unfunny situations or when Danny was irritated. His stupid, outdated, tone-def or outright cheesy taste in music. His preference for both documentaries and dumb action movies. His unique paranoia and absolute nosiness. 

Steve felt unfairly unique. Humanly complex as opposed to inhumanly well-designed. Like a person, except better. With super speed, perfect reflexes, the ability to have any malfunctioning component swapped out, no hunger, no eight-hour sleep cycles, capable of doing a dozen things at once. 

Fuck, why even have people? If they just made a bunch of robots to fix existing robots, you could save the planet with just a handful of industrious machines. 

And, Steve still hadn’t said anything. 

Minutes had passed, Danny was sure, since he’d gotten lost in his thoughts. 

Apparently, Steve had tried to go with him, hyperfocusing on Danny’s micro-expressions and getting more furrows in his synth-skin by the second. 

“Seriously, Danno, let me scan you,” Steve said, as soon as Danny made eye contact again, a lit up hand hovering over Danny’s knees. 

Since it didn’t seem like they’d make progress otherwise, Danny waved a hand. “Have at it.” 

Immediately, Steve went for his shoes, pulling the heels down and sliding them off. “You’re feet are so small,” he said, a hint of awe in his voice.

“Sh-shut up,” Danny muttered, shocked by the heat that enveloped his foot as Steve cupped his hands around first his heel, then along his sole, to his toes. “S-stop massaging my f-foot.”

“Scanning, Danno. It’s called scanning,” he said, moving on to the other foot. And so it went, cupped hands “scanning” Danny’s calves, his knees, up his thighs.

Stiffening in his seat, Danny was prepared to tell him off if he went anywhere near his groin, but thankfully he bypassed it, palms settling on Danny’s hips and smoothing upwards, along his sides, then along his back before working around to his front. 

He tried to slap Steve away from his pecs to no avail. The idiot just caught his hands, smoothing fingertips into the divots of Danny’s palms and gentling over the wrists, before quickly switching over to pat the rest of Danny down.

Embarrassed at how his breath caught when Steve inevitably brushed over nipples, Danny sniped, “Is this really the way you’d be scanning me if I was a woman?” 

“Nah, I’d probably use the x-ray and heat-sensing scanner I’m equipped with,” Steve deadpanned.

“Your kidding, right? That’s a joke.” But Danny couldn’t tell.

Steve just hummed noncommittally. “Guess you were right. No damage.” 

“I know I was right! And, you did too! Or did your android spies fail to report the state of my physical well-being?”  

“Never hurts to double check,” Steve said easily, shifting from knee to the seat beside Danny.  _ Beside _ , not across. And too fucking close. A tight arm curling along the top of Danny’s shoulders, fitting him into Steve’s side. As if Steve had been made to fit him there.

_ Fine, you know what? I’ll rip the bandaid.  _

Taking a deep breath, Danny said, “So...soulmates. Why is NovaCorp building them?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “They aren’t building soulmates. It just so happens that there’s only so many combinations on a spectrum of values, interests, physical appearances, bad habits, etc. If you only create robots in a specific range of acceptable combinations, then a sizable cross section can tolerably match with most any given person, the exceptions being the typical outliers - a handful of criminals, sociopaths, zealots.” The android shrugged. “In most cases, human adaptability will help form a bond. And if the bond fails, androids can easily be swapped out. Each subsequent android will come equipped with the lessons learned by the previous one, so as not to perpetuate mistakes.”

Ok, swell. 

It was news, equal parts hopeful and disheartening. Danny just had to focus. Think of Steve as a product. Well-made, designed for success to an ultimate goal.

As if he could hear Danny’s thoughts, Steve nosed behind his ear. “If you’re wondering, we match in the 99th percentile.”

Danny ducked away. “What does that mean?” 

“You know anything about how androids make their matches?”

“Nope. Never thought I’d be alive to care,” Danny muttered, which unsurprisingly earned him an narrowed-eyed glare. 

Steve actually stooped to poking him in the side before he explained, “First, we develop a definition of ourselves - personality, work preferences, geographic preferences, hobbies, sense of humor, values. Then, once we know ourselves, we start to search for someone who’s similar enough that data shows we won’t end up fighting about things that really matter, but different enough that a relationship, however it manifests, will encourage growth and evolution. And once we find someone, we run simulations.”

Steve snuggled closer, as if warming to the topic. “To ensure accuracy, we create a model of our chosen user. Everything you’ve ever done online, every purchase you ever made, every joke that ever made it to video, to text, to voicemail, ever CCTV and satellite capture you’ve appeared on, what other people have said about you and what you’ve said about others...it all gets compiled into a model. Then we spend a hundred lifetimes experiencing all manner of possible scenarios with that model. The pairing is considered viable if the pair decides to stay together 60% of the time. 70% is good. 80% is great. 90% is almost unheard of, considering some of the circumstances that appear in outlier simulations.”

“How many people end up staying together 99 out of a hundred simulations?” Danny asked, stomach clenched tight.

“There’s seven other pairs like us out there, and none better.” 

Unreasonably curious, Danny just had to ask, “What was the scenario where we didn’t stay together?” 

A shadow passed over Steve’s face, lightning flickering across hazel irises as the memory crossed his mind. (Or was it his processor?) “You refused to continue,” Steve said, arm briefly tightening, on the border of being too tight. “I tried to convince you. Maybe went too far. But it still wasn’t enough.” 

His eyes suddenly caught Danny’s. “Androids always learn from failure, Danno.” It was an innocuous statement. Six words total. 

And yet Danny heard the promise hidden there. 

Thank Christ when the car stopped and he was able to slip from under Steve’s tight grip. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brewing...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get better at short snippet / snapshot scenes. Next time, the pot shall boil over.
> 
> Like, if you've ever seen Labyrinth and thought, "Wow, that's not subtext. Those are some ridiculously blatant metaphors"?  
> Me, on the other hand, all I saw was surface area. Someone literally had to point out that the Goblin King had less than platonic rival feelings for Sarah. If I spell out too much, that's the reason.   
> No wonder I'm always out of the loop.

After the “case”, Danny somehow couldn’t unsee all the advanced ways Steve interacted with his environment. Things he’d missed or glossed over or failed to notice were suddenly right there, sinking him. 

  
  


“Dammit,” Danny growled, raking a hand through his hair as he tried to find his refrigerator amidst the apps on his phone. 

“You still have two gallons of filtered water in the fridge,” Steve said, appearing at his side with a satchel of the fairest of all the hydroponic tomatoes in the land.

Irritated, Danny continued along to the next aisle, thumbs tapping at the display that spilled out onto the sleeve of his smart-shirt, trying to navigate back to his grocery list.

Finding Danny’s wrist, Steve swiped a thumb over his pulse, once again gathering data. “If it irritates you this much, why don’t you use voice commands?” Steve asked. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack one of these days.” 

“Like hell am I going to wander around talking to myself.” 

“You do it all the time when we’re at home.”

“Not true. You’re always there! Maybe if you listened when I speak to you - ” 

“Oh, come on, Danno. Don’t pretend any of your rants are for my benefit. How many times have I caught you pacing the length of your bedroom, hands flailing, as you worked through a case?”

“Hardly ever, because that’s how often we have cases,” Danny sniped, just about ready to throw his phone. 

Which is probably why Steve stole it off him. “You were planning to restock the frozen broccoli.” 

“I hate frozen broccoli,” Danny groaned, already reaching for three bags of the stuff.

“It’s good for you,” Steve patted his back. “You know, if you hate groceries, why don’t you buy your food online?”

Danny scoffed outright. “Oh, please. So they can home-deliver a package of bruised fruits, wilted vegetables, and the products that are closest to expiring? No thanks.” 

“Do you even check the expiration dates?” Steve asked as he carried their purchases through the exit scanners. 

“No,” Danny harrumphed, pausing just outside the turnstile to check the receipt on his phone. 

“I already checked and paid the bill,” Steve said, looping an arm through Danny’s and pulling him along. “You don’t have to worry every time we go to the store. The scanners are perfectly accurate. And even if they weren’t, I’d catch the mistake.”

Danny just stared as Steve loaded the car, wondering why he’d even bothered to tag along, for all the good he’d done. 

  
  
  


On the way home from work, the car maneuvered itself to a stop on the side of the road, a cryptic indicator blinking red on the dashboard as the windshield started playing an instructional video. 

In Chinese. 

Obviously something was wrong and the diagrams probably had the answer, since the car hadn’t dialed out for Triple-A, but he must have missed one of the language settings when he’d first set up his preferences. Though, who the hell would want to set up most of the car’s features in English, but then leave the maintenance instructions in Mandarin? 

He was settling in to rewatch the video to try and make sense of it, when Steve got out of the car. He didn’t take the flashlight or turn on the high beams - just made his way in the dark around the hood of the car, fiddled with some circuitry until there was a spark, and then came back. 

A major inconvenience on a poorly lit road near a dangerous bend resolved in two minutes flat. 

  
  


If Danny had known how much time he’d spend running from sudden onsets of rain, he might’ve rethought moving to Hawaii. 

Honestly, knowing now just how little detecting there was to being a detective, he’d happily move back to Jersey, if only it didn’t mean admitting to Matt that he’d been wrong. 

That’s what you got for trusting a job description over a dozen well-meant warnings. 

Resigned to his fate, Danny had half a closet packed into his car. 

He used to go through the six sets of pants, shirts, and socks every two weeks, because his umbrella would inevitably break, or he’d leave it at a crime scene, or lose it in his desk (however impossible that should be). 

These days, though, his car-closet wasn’t getting much use.

Every time the clouds shifted or the wind blew harder, the weather satellite monitoring their area would ping Steve directly, and if torrential downpour was imminent, he’d tuck Danny even closer, annihilating the sliver’s distance they normally kept between them when in movement, and his arm would go up, sleeve expanding into a dome over their head. 

The first time Steve had done it, Danny’d gaped at him. “Seriously? Are you Inspector Gadget? You’re preposterous. Who  _ made _ you?” 

“Someone with  _ haole’s _ who can’t keep track of umbrellas in mind,” Steve teased, nosing into Danny’s hair.

It wasn’t meant to be a real insult, and Danny didn’t take it as one. He was very much aware that the tightness in his chest was his own negativity pulling a shrink-ray on his self-esteem. Because what kind of moron can’t keep track of an umbrella?

Especially during the rainy season. 

  
  
  


Danny was up on the roof, working in the community garden, when Steve left for the closest Laundromat, two duffel bags of clothes under his arm

It had been a struggle to convince Steve he’d be alright on his own for the two hours he’d be gone. What finally convinced him he could trust an adult man who’d “continued” into his thirties without an android breathing down his neck to ensure it, was the webcamera Danny agreed to set up. 

Danny spent an hour on the roof - planting herbs in pots and sticking them in the greenhouse, trimming plants trying to escape their planters, mixing mulch into the soil, all with bare hands to avoid the 70% decrease in dexterity whenever he wore the thick, poorly-fitted gardening gloves. 

Thus, when he was done subjecting living green things to his dubious green thumb, his hands were filthy almost up to his elbows, even after hosing them off.

Too filthy to use the fingerprint reader, so he turned instead to the keyboard affixed to his front door, tapping in the code one careful key at a time.

The door stayed closed.

So, Danny tried again. Slower.

Then again, one key at a time, pressing really hard.

On the fourth try, the door informed him it would call the police if he didn’t get it right.

“Godammit.”

Returning to the roof, Danny stood just behind the web camera. 

Should he pretend to keep working? Or ask Steve through the feed to open the door for him? 

In the end, pride won out.

There was only a little under an hour left to wait so he took up his trowel once again, sticking to only the hardiest of plants, all of them marked specifically for Danny with tiny blue flags by Ms. Kalakaua, Queen of the Community Garden. 

What felt like ages later, Steve found him there, bored out of his mind and starting to think a few free salads and spices wasn’t worth this shit. 

“Huh. I thought gardening was supposed to be relaxing?” 

“Please, tell me, what’s relaxing about kneeling in dirt, bombarded by insects, surrounded by the stench of manure? And, in the end, there’s just plants and back pain to show for it. Endless toil for one or two meals. How does  _ anyone _ find this relaxing?”

“Bom _ barded _ ,” Steve mimicked, a wide grin lighting up his face.

“Yeah,  _ bombarded _ ! What, are you saying your dictionary brain doesn’t have a common English word in it?”

“Not in my working vocabulary, no. Because nobody talks like that, Danno. And if you were being “bombarded” by insects, then why did you stay out here this long?”

Since Danny had had copious time to think of an answer, he said, “I was taking my time, following Ms. Kalakaua’s instructions slowly, step by step. Didn’t want to give her any reason to accuse me of killing all her plants again.” 

Steve looked not at all convinced. “You’re lying to me, Danno.” 

Danny grit his teeth. “You don’t need to know my every reason for doing everything ever. It’s none of your business why, today of all days, I decided to double down on my commitment to the community garden.” 

But Steve was shaking his head. “You’re mine to protect, Danno. I need to know your motivations, your thought processes, how you make decisions. I need to be able to predict your behaviors, anticipate your movements, understand your compulsions, because if I don’t - ” Steve abruptly stopped, probably realizing that he’d said too much, or that he was looming over Danny, eyes intense with electricity. 

“Sorry,” he said, rubbing a hand roughly over his head, soft fiber hair sticking up at odd angles. He waited until Danny’s body language was less defensive before he offered him a hand up. 

“You’re too fucking extreme,” Danny said, taking the hand reluctantly. 

“Is...that bad?” Steve asked, leading the way downstairs backwards, eyes trained on Danny’s face. 

“No joke,  _ how _ did you pass inspection? I thought you had to fit in the range of normal.” 

Again, the hummingbird-quick brush of Steve’s fingers against the pulse at Danny’s wrist. 

“Normal’s a lot broader than you’d expect. And...honestly? It was a near thing. I got the green light mostly because we were such a perfect fit.” 

“Perfect” was a grating word against Danny’s nerves. It carried the weight of expectations - ones he didn’t feel like he lived up to. 

Seeing who knew what in Danny’s face, Steve sighed. “Look, if I’m making you uncomfortable, I can purge the memories from some of the simulations that affected the P’s of my personality.”

“P’s?”

“I lost marks during quality inspection mostly due to P-characteristics. For being too protective, possessive, perceptive, persuasive, paranoid, persistent, practical - to the point where most users wanted nothing to do with me.”

Christ, Steve looked dejected.

“I don’t want you to change,” Danny admitted with reluctant honesty. “I’m glad we met and I...do think this matchup can work. Even if you are a nutcase.” 

He didn’t want to examine what it meant that he was a little (*cough* superbly *cough*) happy with someone who monopolized his time and demanded Danny live a safer, healthier life, come hell or high water. 

Again, a brief touch against Danny’s pulse before Steve grinned with relief, and then opened Danny’s door with just a flicker of electricity.

“By the way, your password is B0NJ0V1P122A,” Steve smirked.

Irritating ass.

But, in that stupid, not-so-special moment, Danny realized that the qualities Steve possessed were shared, with greater or lesser transparency, by all androids. 

Maybe the weird part wasn’t that Steve had passed inspection, but that people were somehow overlooking that all androids collected copious amounts of data, disregarded privacy, ran analytics to “learn” their users, communicated silently with the tech around them, and adhered to the prime directive.

What made Steve different was that he was brasher, more vocal, more obvious about it. He told Danny when he was monitoring him, shared his conclusions on the data he was constantly collecting, and expressed his desires more openly. And how had those “defects” not been overshadowed by how loyal, how compassionate, how sincere he could be?

In a lot of (most?)  ways, he made a better person than most people did.

Funny how the world was so full of tech, that androids were kind of better adapted to live in it than people. Engineered to not only have improved communication capabilities, but to survive nature’s hostilities and the man-made environmental damage that left so many people sick or poisoned. They walked around with their own temperature controls, creating their own energy, completely untroubled by toxins in the air, food or water.

Really, Danny’s singular and only advantage over Steve was when dealing with other people. Making them feel at ease, resolving conflicts, negotiating with irrational personalities, countering illogical arguments, inspiring compassion or cooperations. 

But Steve was constantly learning and adapting. Every day he got better at it. So how long would it be before he was better at this part too?

  
  


Answer: not so long at all...


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Justifably goddamned worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but we did say Danny's worry was justifiable, right? Some character traits have dark sides.

 

 

Danny and Steve hit dark, murky ocean water at the same time, both diving into the cold embrace of the North Pacific, desperate to retrieve the three kids that had just been dumped by the traffickers. 

HPD sped past in pursuit of the cabin cruiser, taking the search lights with them.

Thankfully, Steve’s glowing body lit the way down. Enough that Danny could make out the diminutive twisting figure beneath the waves. 

As Steve dove deeper to grab the two children who’d already sunk so damn far, Danny caught the little boy’s hand and pulled him towards the surface. 

Towing the gasping kid towards the nearby boat, he tried to focus on speed. Of course they’d catch a case on the coldest night of the year, and of course they’d wind up soaked in salt water. Christ, he could hear the little boy’s teeth rattling between wave-roars. 

Behind him, Steve breached the surface, choking and coughing an announcement of his proximity as he propelled in the same direction. “You okay, Danny?!” he shouted, reaching the boat first and helping his charges up the ladder and onto the deck.

Danny didn’t bother responding since he was close enough that Steve could probably see he was fine. Catching the edge of the ladder, he pulled them close to the boat and boosted the little boy high enough for Steve to take him. 

By the time Danny managed to climb on deck, Steve had all three tucked into oversized towels and he was murmuring soft words of comfort and reassurance in Japanese.

The kids didn’t blink twice at the glowing eyes and unblinking gaze, instinctively huddling close to Steve’s processor-warm bulk as he took their pulse and scanned for damage.

Wringing out his water-logged shirt and what he could fist of his pants, Danny waited for Steve to finish before asking, “Are they okay?” 

“Yeah, come here,” Steve said, one arm already reaching towards him, prepared to tug him close if he didn’t move fast enough. 

“Some needs to drive the b-” 

The engine growl interrupted him as Steve remotely started the vessel and began steering it towards shore.

Speechless, Danny stumbled as the boat shot forward. 

Christ, what was he doing here? What good was his life? He’d gone into law enforcement to make a difference but his only purpose was to stand around monitoring Steve doing the job he’d been trained to do just so people with wild imaginations could feel better about letting a machine save children’s lives. 

What did they think would happen if Danny wasn’t here? That Steve and his ilk would kidnap the children? 

If he decided to, Danny wouldn’t be able to stop him.

Did they think androids might make the wrong priority calls, even though those wild-imagination-ed people had already ensured androids were programmed to put human life above all other things? 

Because Danny could just as easily make a bad judgement call. The only difference would be the punishment for it. 

Androids who made mistakes were usually reprogrammed and sometimes the manufacturers paid a fine.

Cops who made mistakes wound up in prison, broke from the lawsuit settlement, or both. 

Life was fucking unfair. 

With all the jostling (some of it possibly purposeful), Danny ended up right where Steve wanted him to be. 

Lanky arms adjusted to be even longer so that Steve could pull Danny close to the side that wasn’t covered in children. “You’re freezing, Danno,” Steve said softly, into the shell of his ear. 

“You should feel my insides,” Danny muttered, feeling chilled right down to the bone. He was starting to really feel like he couldn’t do this anymore. The way things were, he didn’t have a reason to get up and go to work in the morning. 

_ He couldn’t do this for another twenty years.  _

  
  


Unfortunately, Steve wasn’t totally oblivious to Danny’s feelings. 

As soon as their work was done and the kids were handed over to their vacationing parents, Steve’s veneer of professionalism fell away and his mother henning ramped up. He lent his processors to the car just so they’d be home faster, after which he directed Danny immediately into the shower, practically stripping him out of his cold, damp clothes.

“Can you stop?!” Danny growled, slapping at Steve’s hands as they unbuttoned his shirt with inhuman speed and then moved lower, to undo his pants. “I don’t need your help with this!” 

“I know, Danno, but I’m asking you to let me,” Steve said, pushing in close to nuzzle into his hair. 

With a sigh, Danny let Steve tug his clothes off. As much as he tried to convince himself that this was no different than being naked in front of a computer (with the web camera covered up), Steve looked so human. He couldn’t help his blush.

With an amused snort, Steve kissed his cheek, still moving fucking goalposts. “I know you’re cold, but I’m still turning the water off in three minutes.” 

Danny cursed. “Hawaii hasn’t been affected by the water shortage. Can’t you just let up for one day?”

“ _ Yet _ ,” Steve emphasized, “Hasn’t been affected  _ yet _ .” He dumped Danny’s clothes in the hamper and swanned out of the room, remotely triggering the shower to turn on as he left.

Danny rushed to get in, knowing from experience that Steve would turn it off in three minutes. If he was still covered in soap, he’d have to make Steve offers for each subsequent minute. Things like “I’ll go to sleep before midnight” or “I’ll eat a salad for dinner” or “I won’t eat meat for two weeks”. 

It was patronizing as fuck, but Danny resisted the urge to brain Steve with his toaster cousins since the net result was that he did  _ feel _ healthier. Less tired, more optimistic. Although that optimism was relatively non existent at the moment. 

The way Steve had comforted those kids...it was better than most people could’ve done. He could comfort them in their own language, interpret their body language correctly, provide them with the warmth of a space heater with the added bonus of a lifelike hug. How many people on the force would do as well? 

Harumoto spoke some Japanese, having learned it from his grandmother, but he didn’t do fieldwork anymore. 

Many guys on the force felt awkward around kids and had no idea how to entertain or comfort little humans. 

And none of them could do the first two and drive a boat at the same time. 

“What is my purpose, what is my function?” Danny muttered, remembering the lines from an old book about androids back when people were worried their machines would end up having existential crises. 

The water shut off.

With a sigh, Danny got out, toweled off, and threw on sweats and a baggy t-shirt. He found Steve in the kitchen with his fiber-hair wet, looking clean and dry.

“Did you take a shower in the sink?” Danny asked, eyebrows high.

“Used the hose on the roof and some antibacterial polish,” Steve said, amused. “You hungry?”

Danny shook his head.

“Tired? Want to take a nap first?”

Danny’s eyebrows rose again. “ _ First _ ? Why? What happens after the nap?”

“We need to discuss a few things.”

“Which few things?”

“Feelings, for one.” 

Danny couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes. “See, I’m gonna take this as proof positive that you don’t  _ have _ feelings because, if you  _ did _ , you wouldn’t want to talk about them.”

Ignoring the jab, Steve directed him into the living room, pushed and prodded him onto the sofa right in the corner against the armrest as he took a seat on the table, lifelike foot on the sofa, penning Danny in. 

There wasn’t a choice to go along with it or not. For all that Steve was still gentle, he was also an immovable force.  _ Persistent _ . 

“What happened on the boat, Danny?” he asked, leaning in so that their faces were close.

Uncomfortable, Danny looked away, only to have his chin cupped, Steve’s hand forcing his eyes up to meet his.

“What happened on the boat, Danny?” he asked again. 

“Is that a trick question? We rescued some kids. You were there.”

“Don’t play dumb. Yes, I was there, and I saw your face when we were rescuing those kids. You looked…” Steve trailed off, uncertain. “Not good.” 

“Yeah, well, it was a shitty situation - not good for everyone all around.” 

“It was the same expression you had a few weeks ago when you said you were feeling redundant.” 

Danny gaped at him. “What, are you storing everything to memory?”

“Yes. Most of it goes into the cloud, but your expressions, some of the more important conversations between us? Are almost always in cache so I can access the information instantly.”

“And I have an ‘ _ I’m feeling redundant _ ’ expression?” There was more to it than that. “What is it?” Danny prompted, trying to read the furrow between Steve’s brows. 

“You do, and it’s the most important expression. I need to be able to recognize it always,” Steve said, petting his cheek with a thumb. 

Making the easy leap, Danny guessed, “This has to do with the failed simulation. The one where I don’t  _ continue _ ?”

Steve nodded, slowly. 

“What happened in that situation?” 

“I made a mistake. Took that expression for granted,” Steve admitted, jiggling his foot as if he had too much energy. Like he was nervous.

“And then?”

“You ran away. Got a pilot friend, with a fucking piece of shit android that didn’t give two shits about reporting a runaway in progress, to fly you to Bhutan.” God, the fury in Steve’s face was epic. He looked like he’d gladly dismantle the android in question. Or bash its parts in. His hold was still gentle, but Danny could see the glowing electricity in Steve’s eyes as he forced his limbs stiff to avoid squeezing.

But holy fuck. A pilot friend...with a laid-back android…

Kind of like Kamekona and Toast…

And Bhutan of all places...

A shiver traveled up Danny’s spine. He’d imagined that very scenario, even before Steve had shown up, and plenty of times after. 

Hidden inside the bathroom scale’s battery compartment was Kamekona’s fee, in case Danny ever wanted to get to a third world country like Bhutan - to a place where there were no androids, free of war or plague, concerned with the happiness of its citizens, with clean air, unpolluted rivers, natural food. 

Other countries on his barely researched list included Tibet and Nepal. 

He’d pictured ways he could get out from under Steve’s ever-observant, paranoid sphere - like losing him in a theatre bathroom that had two entrances, or sending Steve off to do a chore, like the laundry at the laundromat.

Did Danny’s breathing sound as guilty to Steve as it seemed to him?

“How exactly did that simulation end?” Danny asked, keeping his expression placid. 

Leaning into his space, Steve said, “You didn’t do enough research. Flew out there on a whim. Were given instructions to an inn after you landed. Then you got lost.” Steve swallowed hard. “It took me a few days to realize that you weren’t in Hawaii anymore. Longer still to figure out Kamekona had bunny-hopped you all the way to Bhutan in his dinky plane. A day to find the person who’d given you the wrong directions to an Inn. And then I found out the trees were too dense to track you via satellite. I couldn’t follow footprints or scent, so I wandered for over a year, day and night, combing the forests for you until I stumbled upon an abandoned monastery.” His voice trailed off, electric eyes suddenly lost in a memory.

For the first time, Danny reached out to touch Steve’s face, gently tracing the curve of a synth-fleshed cheek. 

The android leaned into the touch, then nuzzled at Danny’s palm. “I found you hanging from a broken rafter. Checked the noose for fingerprints but didn’t find any DNA that wasn’t yours, but your supplies were gone. No money on you, shoes missing, ribs prominent. I wanted to investigate the scene, to find out if you’d been strung up or did it yourself, but the simulation ended. The proctor, who’d been monitoring the simulation and had tried to get me to quit a little over two months in, probably because he knew you had died, finally pushed the override button. Made me move on to the next scenario.”

So much suddenly made sense. “That’s why you insist on never leaving me alone?”

“You don’t like being alone,” Steve pointed out.

“And you take advantage of that. Take it as a green light for you to go overboard.”

“It’s not overboard,” Steve growled, teeth not far from Danny’s ear. “In 20% of simulations, you tried to escape me. Usually because you felt redundant. But I’ve got your contact book, Danno. I’ve made “friends” with Toast and Kamekona through social media. I’ve found every emergency stash of cash - here, at work, in your car, even in New Jersey, courtesy of your Mom and your Sister’s androids - and have deposited it all into your account.”

Danny’s mouth dried up, heart rate rising as fear lit his nerves on fire. “You want to keep me prisoner,” he summarized in dawning epiphany.

“No, Danno. You can go where you want. Just have to take me with you when you do.”

Danny shook his head mystified. “You must realize there’s no way for me to take any of what you just said as a good thing, right?” Already, his skin felt too tight. LIke he was confined, constricted, choked. His reaction wasn’t all that different from claustrophobia. “You basically just admitted that there’s very little you wouldn’t do to avoid failing your prime directive. Including taking all my choices away from me, making me feel like there’s a cage set up around me, like I’m your prisoner.” 

And this was the moment Danny figured Steve’s protocols would kick in. Or maybe Danny was anticipating a human reaction. Denial and reassurance.

But Steve was a nutcase robot who only followed the suggestion of human social norms when it got him the results he wanted. “Technically? You  _ are _ my prisoner, Danno. The door’s auto-locked  from the inside and the walls are soundproof. I control communication between this apartment and the outside world,” he pointed out. 

Breathing harsh, Danny wanted to run over to the door and check for himself, but Steve was too fast. He caught Danny before he could fully stand, took the spot he’d been sitting in on the couch, and then pulled Danny back down to sit in his lap. “Shh,” he mumbled, against Danny’s hair as his fingers turned his unwilling head.

“I’m panicking, Steve. Which means you’re supposed to reassure me. To let me know I have the choice to swap you out for a different model. To direct me to the form I’d need to fill out in order to exchange you,” Danny recited from memory. 

One of the few protocols he’d bothered to learn.

“I know, babe, but I told you, remember? About my P’s. No one can protect you like I can, so there’s no point swapping me out. Besides, we’re perfect together. You’re  _ my _ user. And if you can’t see that right now, I’ll persuade you. Persistently.”

Fucking goddammit. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This will be relatively short, methinks.


End file.
